


Just A Pretty Face

by maraudertimes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Contains profanity, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Scenes of a Mild Sexual Nature, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme, post—hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudertimes/pseuds/maraudertimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabrielle wants to be in relationship that isn't solely based on her looks. Richard Wood might be just what she needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Pretty Face

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: So this is cheesey and a little (a lot) romantic, and since I've never written in this genre before (well, nothing like this) I would like to know what you think! Even if you don't like it, that little review box down there? Yeah, use him! Give me a post-NaNo present! ;) Thanks!

_They look so happy,_ she thought miserably. _Even if he does have those scars, she loves him for him and he loves her for her. What I wouldn’t give to find something as true as that._  
  
Gabrielle Delacour was sitting on a wooden patio chair in the backyard of Shell Cottage, a large banner floating above her head, the words ‘10th Anniversary’ printed on the paper in block letters. Her older sister, Fleur, had organized the event to celebrate the 10th anniversary of her marriage to Bill Weasley, and though it should have been a happy occasion, Gabrielle was decidedly morose.  
  
Just three days previous, she had dumped her boyfriend Paulo, a gorgeous Italian man who had been working at Gabrielle’s bakery – _Gateau de Gabrielle_ – until she had found him and the manager of the bakery doing unsanitary things in the employees’ bathroom. Incidentally, that was also the reason she had fired him.  
  
As Gabrielle looked around the beautiful backyard, she felt a pang in her heart as she saw so many happy couples. Most were her sister’s in-laws, but she saw her parents gazing at each other longingly as a particular song Gabrielle knew to be ‘their song’ began to play, a couple she knew to be Fleur’s friends from work already on the dance floor swaying slowly, and even her niece Victoire was playing jacks with the young Teddy, Harry Potter’s godson, albeit Victoire didn’t seem all that happy as Teddy invited another little girl to play with them.  
  
Gabrielle sighed and looked up at the sky, marveling at its beautiful blue colour, almost the same as the one found in her eyes. She knew she was pretty, gorgeous when you think about it, but she also knew that it was only due to her grandmother. And most boys and men she’s met over the years hadn’t been able to look past that. They were all shallow, but she couldn’t seem to meet anyone willing to look underneath the pretty exterior and begin to love the real Gabrielle – a young French woman in her early twenties, avidly set on using her passion of baking to make her living.  
  
She was intelligent, far more intelligent than a baker should be according to her mother, she was funny, a quality she attributed to too many late nights crying about her night mares to her papa, – a jovial man who could make even the straight-faced man crack a smile – she was caring, she loved animals, she had terrible stage-fright and almost fainted during a school play Beauxbatons had put on in her third year, and she could talk to Harry Potter easily but when it came to his wife Ginny she was a wreck as she had been following the Holyhead Harpies since she was young.  
  
Yet to Gabrielle, none of it seemed to matter.  
  
 _I should put a paper bag on my head and see if that attracts any decent men,_ she thought glumly as Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger began to kiss in a small alcove they thought was hidden from view. Even Charlie Weasley, a strange man whose passion for dragons had led him into a strictly celibate lifestyle, had managed to find himself a date for the event.  
  
Gabrielle sighed again and glanced around. The lush green garden to her left began to bloom with red roses and she turned away in disgust. Yet another thing that was connected to love that she would never have anything to do with. A table a little ways away was empty and was filled with desserts and sweets – none of which had been provided from her bakery due to Fleur’s insistence that Gabrielle was to enjoy herself at this event instead of baking, even though Gabrielle knew she would have been much more at ease and far happier had she been in the kitchen – and Gabrielle resigned to the grumbling in her stomach.  
  
She walked over and helped herself to the treacle tart and lemon squares, not daring to touch the custards as she had seen George Weasley sneaking about this table not ten minutes ago, and then meandered around the large circular table to the punch bowl. She poured herself a cup and grumbled as the sun pierced her eyes, making it hard for her to accurately aim. About half of the punch ended up on the table cloth and she murmured a curse before swiftly cleaning it up with a flick of her wand. How she wished she had brought sunglasses. Making her way back to her lawn chair, Gabrielle was surprised to see a man sitting in the one next to it.  
  
“Allo,” she said, her French easily slipping into the budding conversation as a result of her surprise. “And ‘oo are you?”  
  
The man looked over at her and Gabrielle noticed that he had managed to remember sunglasses. She silently cursed herself for being forgetful.  
  
“Hello! I’m Richard. Richard Wood. Is it safe for me to assume you must be a relative of Fleur’s?”  
  
“Yes, I am. ‘Er sister, Gabrielle. And Wood. Where ‘ave I ‘eard zat name before?”  
  
Richard smiled. “My older brother’s Oliver Wood. Reserve keeper for Puddlemere. He and the Weasleys go way back. He decided I had been anti-social long enough so he dragged me out to this party.”  
  
“Ah, yes! I ‘ave met Olivier. ‘E iz a nice man,” Gabrielle said, sitting down in her chair. “And may I be so bold as to ask why you ‘ave been so anti-social?”  
  
“A relationship of mine recently ended,” Richard said quietly. “Quiet badly if I do say so myself.”  
  
Gabrielle nodded. “ _Seigneur_ , I know. My ex-boyfriend, ‘e cheated on me just t’ree days ago. Now I am single and I ‘ave no cashier at my bakery.”  
  
“You own a bakery?” Richard asked, leaning in closer. “That’s amazing! I’ve never met a baker. Tell me,” he took a pause and reached out, fumbling a little before taking her hand, “what does it look like to see bread rise in an oven.”  
  
Though Gabrielle thought it a strange request, all she did was purse her lips and then answered. “Well, ze dough slowly creeps up ze edges of ze pan, and slowly it rises too. It billows out a leetle and ze edges turn golden. Zen it sells delicious for a while and when I take ze bread out, it is ze most beautiful colour.”  
  
Richard nodded and kept his sunglasses-covered eyes on Gabrielle. “Stunning.”  
  
Gabrielle just nodded, but it didn’t take long for the strange atmosphere of the conversation to lighten, and soon the two were laughing over their estimates of how many times Harry Potter used the excuse ‘I’m the Chosen One’ to get out of trouble at school.  
  
“Gabrielle! Gabrielle! I need you over ‘ere!”  
  
Gabrielle turned and saw Fleur gesturing wildly at the desert table where it looked like an entire plate of cookies had fallen, James Potter, Harry and Ginny’s youngest son, hiding under the table. She turned back to Richard and slowly took her hands out of his.  
  
“I’m so sorry, but my sister needs me,” she said. “Do you mind?”  
  
“Of course not!” Richard smiled and leaned back in his chair.  
  
Gabrielle reciprocated the smile and made to get up, but stopped when Richard said her name.  
  
“Gabrielle, I don’t know if this is too forward or not, but would you mind going out to drinks with me sometime?”  
  
If it had been possible, Gabrielle’s smile would have grown bigger. “I would love zat, Richard,” she said, pronouncing it Ree-char instead of the English pronunciation Ritch-ard, something Richard had said was charmingly delightful. “Shall we say, tomorrow at ze T’ree Broomsticks? Seven, perhaps?”  
  
“I’ll see you at seven. Well,” Richard laughed softly, “I won’t _see_ you.”  
  
Gabrielle cocked her head and gave him a curious look. “Why ever not?”  
  
Richard looked stunned and pulled away a little bit. “Gabrielle, I’m… I’m blind. Why do you think I have sunglasses and a cane?”  
  
Gabrielle sat there, shock written on her face. Her mouth opened and closed like a goldfish until she finally found her voice.  
  
“You’re blind? I just assumed zat you remembered your sunglasses, and zat you ‘ad been ‘urt recently,” she said quietly.  
  
Richard leaned back in his chair, taking his hands away from Gabrielle’s. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. We can call tomorrow off if you like. I won’t mind.”  
  
Gabrielle frowned and grabbed one of the hands Richard had pulled away. “Richard,” she said, her accent distorting the pronunciation and making the corners of Richard’s lips turn up a little, “before we met, I was sad because I did not think zat I would ever find anyone ‘oo could look past my face and fall in love wit’ ze person I am. You have shown me zat it is possible for me to find someone interested in me. To not give you a chance would be ‘ypocritical.”  
  
Richard smiled and intertwined his fingers with Gabrielle. “Tomorrow at seven then?”  
  
Gabrielle giggled. “It would an ‘onor.”  
  
Richard brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it softly. “I’ll _see_ you there.”  
  
Gabrielle smiled and turned, walking over to her sister. Fleur raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
“Richard Wood?” She asked simply, waiting for a reply.  
  
Gabrielle blushed and nodded. “I may ‘ave found someone ‘oo will love me for me, and not just my pretty face.”

**Author's Note:**

> A.N.: So? Tell me what you think and don't be scared! A few CCs never hurt anyone! :)


End file.
